


Tranquilised

by tdwk



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Bodyguard AU, Bokuto and Kuroo are bros, M/M, Mob AU, bodyguard!akaashi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-02
Updated: 2016-01-22
Packaged: 2018-05-04 13:34:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5335949
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tdwk/pseuds/tdwk
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Forced to take responsibility for his careless mistakes which led to misunderstandings, Kuroo becomes a temporary caretaker to Kenma, a withdrawn young man with a curious past. </p><p>Unknown to Kuroo, his best friend Bokuto has taken over as the new head of their Family and is the sole target of a kill-or-be-killed tradition by the other Families. Akaashi is newly contracted to Bokuto, and must single-handedly keep the assassination-prone, accident-prone young leader alive and breathing.</p><p>(Complicated feelings happen, being chased around without pants, one meddling owl-dad, lots of attempts at writing an action flick).</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I'm not an expert on the Middle East, and stereotypes are just stereotypes in the real world. This is a work of (fan)fiction.

The boss had given him a job. It didn't matter that Kuroo hated hot weather, was gay, and would rather stay in Japan where he could keep an eye on Bokuto. The Middle East wasn't high on his list of travel destinations. But he'd been willingly blindfolded, led onto a private jet, and here he was. Sitting next to the man who controlled the entire underground society in the Middle East. 

 

The boss had sent him on negotiations to secure trading routes and he'd be damned if he left empty-handed. Kuroo looked around, blindfold gone, and counted the people. Four bodyguards, one lawyer. The man wasn't stupid, and he trusted Kuroo's boss to send a competent negotiator. 

"Mr. Kuroo, please, partake in the dishes." The man gestured to the plates of fruit, sweetmeats, pastries and cheeses.

Kuroo nodded, taking a bite of spiced meat. He'd expected to immediately start negotiations but he'd play along with the man. The sun was high on the horizon, and they still had plenty of time for formalities.

"How is it?" The man hadn't eaten but Kuroo didn't suspect foul play. The boss was on friendly terms with the man, and poisoning a subordinate was just in bad taste.

Kuroo was uncertain of the customs and culture of the Middle East. The boss had sprung the trip on him just a few days before he left. But, common courtesy was universal, and the food was good. "It's very good, sir."

The man laughed, pleased. He clapped his hands together twice and shouted, "Bring them in!"

Kuroo raised an eyebrow in question. He saw the colourful drapes of the tent being pulled aside, and at least a dozen youths walked in, their bodies flashing with gold and silver jewellery. Slaves.

"Before we get to business, we should enjoy ourselves! These are my finest dancers, Mr. Kuroo."

So that's what they called them here; dancers. But the term couldn't hide their dramatic makeup and flawless bodies.

The man swept his hands towards the slaves, and soft music began to drift like smoke.

As the dancers' bodies moved to the melody, Kuroo's eyes were drawn to one of the young men. He could tell the dancer had black hair, but it was bleached blonde from his ears to the tips. It was rare to see slaves with black hair. More flamboyant features were desirable.

A thin gold band embedded with a emerald wrapped around his neck. It declared to all his status. The young man was property, a thing bought off the black market for an exorbitant price, probably at some underground auction.

The slave was lean, slender, his was a sensuous dancer's physique. Little tassels of bright precious metal decorated the slave's upper arms, wrists, ankles and hips. 

It was so unlike Kuroo's body, honed by years of martial arts training. Kuroo was a living, breathing weapon. His job was to fight and to defend.

Their value and worth were completely different, yet Kuroo couldn't tear his eyes away from the youth. Maybe it was the bright, brown eyes. They almost seemed gold reflected in the stray beams of sunlight.

"I see you like the little cat, Mr. Kuroo. You've got a good eye, he's a real beauty," said the man, amused.

Kuroo winced at the man's light tone. Yakuza subordinate he might be, it still didn't make him comfortable directly dealing with slavery and all the other taboo vices available on the black market. "He is indeed very beautiful." Kuroo replied, neutrally.

The man continued, "Now, Mr. Kuroo, concerning the deal..."

 

Kuroo half-collapsed onto the plane seat, exhausted and skin sticky with sweat. This was why he hated the Middle East. There were no clouds, and his boss, Bokuto Senior, liked to talk too much. 

The deal had already been decided, over numerous calls and emails. Kuroo had been sent to finalise it, and to be a physical representative. The older generation did love their redundant rules. It didn't help his sanity when Bokuto Senior decided to wax on and on about Bokuto Junior, and to Kuroo's absolute delight (read: disgust), the man had wanted details on the prodigal son. Kuroo had been left to translate from English to Japanese and back. Not exactly his idea of fun.

At least, they'd finally finished, and the document was signed and shaken upon. It would be too soon if the boss sent him on another trip.

Kuroo closed his eyes, not bothering to wait for take off. He'd rather just wake up and be in Japan.

 

The pilot shook his shoulder, and Kuroo startled awake, hand on his pocket knife. He realised they'd landed, and promptly removed the knife from where it was at the pilot's neck. 

"My apologies for waking you, Mr. Kuroo, but we have arrived in Japan. It is currently 4:48AM. A car is waiting outside for you."

"Much appreciated." Kuroo grimaced, the poor guy must've had to deal with a lot of people like him. The guy hadn't even flinched when Kuroo had almost slit his throat.

He gave the pilot a lopsided smile and unbuckled himself. The plane was small, with an airstair already attached. Stepping outside, Kuroo inhaled deeply, relishing the crisp, fresh air. Japan was definitely milder in summer than the Middle East. He quickly took the stairs, anxious to check in on Bokuto. 24 hours without Kuroo's supervision; there was no telling the amount of idiocy-induced trouble Bokuto could get himself into.

A black car was parked on the airstrip, a few metres from the plane. Kuroo recognised the tinted windows and the driver. Specifically, the boss's personal chauffeur, Yamada. Who was waving frantically at him. A little alarmed, Kuroo jogged over to meet him. Whatever it was, it couldn't be good news.

"Kuroo, Bokuto broke his leg and is in hospital right now. He keeps saying he wants to see you." 

"What?!" He'd expected some bruises, maybe a few paper cuts. "How? What did he do to himself?!" 

"He was trying to pet a cat and he fell from the balcony. I heard the boss say it's not too serious."

Kuroo should've known. Bokuto was ridiculously prone to accidents, and assassinations. It made his job harder, but Bokuto was his friend as well as the son of his employer. "Let's go. I'm sure he's driving the nurses nuts by now."

Yamada nodded, laughing as he opened the car door for Kuroo. 

What Kuroo hadn't been expecting was another person in the backseat. Someone with nervous eyes flickering to focus on him underneath dyed strands of blonde hair. The 'little cat' who'd caught his eye from the business deal. 

Kuroo looked around to Yamada, and raised an eyebrow, like the chauffeur would answer all his questions. 

"I don't know why you're looking at me like that but the kid just got off the plane before you. Said he was yours." Yamada was a good man; he just went with the flow. At times like this though, Kuroo wished Yamada was more curious as to why Kuroo would have brought back a sex slave as a souvenir.

A quiet voice spoke up. "I'm a gift. Please use me as you wish, Master." Kuroo saw a glimpse of pale gold eyes before they were hidden again.

It had to be some kind of sick joke the boss was pulling on him. "Yamada, can you take us to the hospital?" He needed to talk to the boss, and check on Bokuto too.

"Of course, Kuroo."

 

Bokuto, who had been lying against a pillow in his hospital bed, sat up suddenly at the sight of Kuroo. 

"KUROO! YOU'RE BACK! HOW WAS IT? DAD TOLD ME YOU BROUGHT A 'GUEST' BACK HOME, YOU SHOULD INTRODUCE ME!"

Kuroo winced, pretty sure he could hear nurses' coming to gag Bokuto's loud mouth. "Hey, Bokuto, how's the leg?"

"They told me it was the first floor and I am stupidly lucky I didn't get a concussion!"

"I swear... every time, Bokuto, it's like you're deliberately trying to kill yourself." Kuroo shook his head in exasperation. "By the way, where's your dad?"

"He left a while ago. But he told me to tell you that it's your bonus for looking after me for so long?" Bokuto tilted his head sideways, "Kuroo, what does that mean?" 

Kuroo felt himself slump against the doorframe. "Nothing. Don't worry about it. Just get better soon." Bokuto didn't need to know about the attractive young man waiting in the car. The attractive young man who Kuroo would be returning. "I'll come see you again tomorrow, Bokuto. Don't do anything stupid."

"Yep! I promise I won't!"

Kuroo's mind was completely overwhelmed by his little problem, but what he should've realised was Bokuto's uncharacteristic complacency. What Bokuto was hiding would later bite Kuroo in the ass, metaphorically speaking of course.

 

When they got to Kuroo's apartment, Kuroo sat down on a chair facing the kid. They might as well start to get to know each other, since Bokuto Senior had adamantly refused to return the 'goodwill gift'. "I'm Kuroo. What's your name?" 

The kid shifted slightly, the strands of hair hiding his face parting. "Kitty."

"I mean the name your parents gave you." Poor kid. Except he couldn't be that much younger than Kuroo.

He hesitated and looked down, grabbed a handful of his t-shirt. Quietly, "Kenma."


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer:  
> I'm not an expert on cooking (but Google helped me out), and ditto for the firearms.

Kuroo sighed and ran his hand through his hair, the nap on the plane had been nowhere near enough to cure his bad case of jet lag. Like an allergic reaction, every time Kuroo hopped off a plane his body would tell him what a terrible idea flying was. He could feel how sluggish his body was from sleep deprivation. But he had a responsibility to the kid – no, the kid’s name was Kenma. 

After answering Kuroo, Kenma had stood as still as possible, eyes on the carpeted floor and made not a single sound. Kuroo visually checked Kenma’s physical health, the unblemished skin on his bare arms and legs, the way he stood as if he was trying to seem as small as possible. 

Kuroo thought it odd that pleasure slave would be so calm alone with another man, albeit a little quiet and closed off from the world around him.

Kuroo got up from the chair, which Kenma seemed to have noticed, lifting his head slightly in reaction to Kuroo’s movement. 

“Kenma? Would you like to live with me until I get all this,” Kuroo gestured to the space between them, “sorted out and you can go home?”

Kenma paused, and then nodded slowly, gaze still intent on the carpet.

“Uh, well why don’t you get settled in for now. You can stay in the guest room and I’ll go run the bath for you.”

“Yes.” Kenma said, he seemed to like the idea of a bath. Kuroo understood; between the flight and the hospital visit, a bath would be great.

“Your room’s the second door on the right. Bathroom’s the first door on the right.” Kenma obliged and headed towards the hallway. “And I’ll go make breakfast..? Lunch..?” It was only around 9am but he wasn’t sure if Kenma had eaten on the plane, and Kuroo definitely hadn’t eaten since the extravagant buffet before he’d boarded the plane. 

“Thank you, Master Kuroo.” Kenma looked him in the eye for the shortest amount of time, and gave him an uncertain smile. Kuroo smiled back, happy that he’d moved up from a scary stranger to a less scary not-stranger.

“Kuroo. Just call me Kuroo. And it’s the least I can do.” Especially since Kuroo’s apparent interest in Kenma had been misinterpreted (he didn’t know how it’d happened) and now Kenma was far from home.

Kuroo tugged at his tie, chucking the offending piece of material on a nearby sofa, and rolled up his shirtsleeves. He’d lost the jacket somewhere, but it wasn’t like he wore suits that often anyway. On his way to the main bathroom, he saw that Kenma’s door was slightly ajar, enough that it meant Kenma was giving Kuroo the okay to enter at his discretion. Kuroo made a mental note of it for later.

After he’d started running the water, Kuroo rooted around in the bathroom drawers for the new set of toiletries he’d stashed, and left them on the sink bench. He even managed to find the packet of lemongrass bath bombs Bokuto had randomly gifted him couple months before, telling him he should relax more. At least he finally found some use for them. That went on the sink bench too.

Feeling pleased with himself, Kuroo popped his head into Kenma’s room to tell him the bath would be ready soon only to startle Kenma in the middle of dozing off. Kenma sat straight up from where he’d curled up on the bed and after a moment of confusion, quietly thanked Kuroo again.

“No problem.” Kuroo turned to leave, certain that the little progress he’d managed with Kenma had just been squashed by his thoughtless, stupid mistake. Still, he wondered what he should make for breakfast-lunch. “Hey Kenma, is there anything you want to eat?”

Kenma briefly looked Kuroo in the eye at the sound of his name, breaking off eye contact after a few seconds. He shrugged and said, “Anything is good.”

“How about omelette rice?” Who didn’t like omelette rice, Kuroo thought.

“That sounds really good.” Kenma’s voice was nostalgic, wistful. 

Kuroo suppressed a grin. Maybe he’d get another smile out of Kenma before the day was out. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Shout if you need anything.”

“Okay.”

Kuroo gently closed the door behind him as he left, making another mental note to knock next time.

As Kuroo opened the refridgerator to grab some eggs, he heard a door open, silence, then a door closed. Satisfied that he knew Kenma was taking a bath, Kuroo then retrieved a frozen packet of assorted vegetables from the freezer. He washed and put three cups of white rice in his compact rice cooker.

Except the way Bokuto just outright agreed to stay out of trouble nagged at the back Kuroo’s mind. Kuroo knew Bokuto, it was the inevitable result of his years shadowing Bokuto’s danger-prone teenager self. Bokuto never agreed to anything he wouldn’t, he wasn’t the type to make and then break promises. If Bokuto was going to wreck hell and chaos he’d do it in front of Kuroo, not behind his back. It had made Kuroo’s job easier, but it meant things didn’t add up. Something was going on; Bokuto always just laughed it off whenever Kuroo told him to not do anything dumb.

Kuroo dried his hands on a dishcloth, reached into his pocket for his phone, and dialled Bokuto’s number. While he waited for Bokuto to pick up, Kuroo dumped the frozen vegetables into a saucepan with olive oil and started to lightly sautée them. He got transferred to voicemail after a while. 

BOKUTO HERE! Leave a message and I’ll call back… probably!

Figures that Bokuto, even hospitalised, wouldn’t pick up. Kuroo didn’t bother leaving a message; Bokuto would know to call him back. 

He left his phone on the counter, and took the saucepan off the heat. Kuroo grabbed a couple hunks of chicken breast from the refridgerator, pulled out a chopping board and a slicing knife, and cut the chicken into bite-size cubes. 

Kuroo, mid-slice, remembered that he forgot the onions. He quickly located one in the pantry and diced half of it, chucking the onion in the pan with the rest of the vegetables. Kuroo put the pan with the vegetables back on to the heat, and in a separate pan, he cooked the chicken in some butter.

Kuroo’s attention was on browning the chicken when he thought he heard Kenma. 

“Kuroo.” Kenma was calling him. Kuroo almost didn’t hear it the second time round. “Kuroo?”

He couldn’t leave the kitchen while everything was cooking so he stayed where he was, and voice raised, said, “What’s wrong?”

The response came, louder this time, “Where are the towels?”

“They should be in one of the drawers.”

Kuroo waited for a reply, the rice cooker beeped.

“Found it!”

Kuroo then added the freshly cooked rice to the chicken, moved the vegetables into the same pan as the chicken, and incorporated some tomato sauce and soy sauce. With a spoon, he checked the flavour. It was just right. 

His phone rang, Bokuto was calling back.

He reached for it, one hand still holding the spatula, and swiped the green pick-up symbol. 

“Kuroo speaking.” 

“Hey, Kuroo! You called?”

“Why didn’t you pick up when I called you, Bokuto?”

“Uh,” an awkward pause and Bokuto’s unintelligible muttering, “I went to the toilet. Don’t worry about it. What’s up?”

“I was just wondering why were you on the balcony in the first place? Weren’t you suppose to be inside the house?” Kuroo left the spatula in the pan and cracked the eggs into a bowl. He whisked yolk and white with some milk and sugar.

“Well… About that, uh, I was going out for a breath of fresh air?”

“I’m asking you Bokuto.” The sizzle of the egg mixture touching oil in another pan.

“Kuroo, are you cooking? Wait wait, I didn’t know you knew how to cook!”

“Yeah, I’m making omelette rice.” Kuroo also noticed how Bokuto latched onto that little tidbit instead of answering his question. “But –”

“Kuroo that’s so cool, I definitely want to eat your omelette rice!” 

Kuroo carefully pushed half the colourful rice onto the omelette, and stacked it onto one side of the omelette. “Sure, maybe when I’m free.” 

“The last time I had omelette rice was that time I got a really high fever, do you remember?”  
Kuroo lifted the omelette with his chopsticks to check if it was done. He laughed at the memory, “How could I ever forget that? You were so delirious you started jumping on the bed, saying you could fly and no one was going to stop you.” 

“Yeah…” It obviously wasn’t as fond a memory for Bokuto as it had been for Kuroo. Bokuto had leapt off the bed and ‘flew’ before crash-landing into a bookstand.

The omelette was a light golden colour, “Hold on, I gotta flip this omelette on to a plate. Give me a sec.”

“Kuroo, why don’t you flip your omelette, I’ll talk to you later.” Abruptly as he had called, Bokuto hung up. Kuroo had been searching for a flat plate to put the omelette rice on and was about to demand Bokuto tell him what had happened with his broken leg. Kuroo was going to pay a personal visit to Bokuto’s patient room, but maybe tomorrow. He was so tired, and it could wait.

Kuroo tucked in the edges of the omelette around the rice with chopsticks, and flipped both egg and rice onto a fish-shaped plate. 

He set the plate down on the kitchen counter, with a spoon and ketchup bottle. 

Kuroo called Kenma, “Kenma, food’s ready.”

“Um, Kuroo, can I borrow a t-shirt?”

“Of course you can,” Kuroo walked to his room, grabbed one of his clean t-shirts, “But it might be a little big.” He found Kenma, chest bare and wearing nothing but a very short pair of shorts, waiting outside Kenma’s room. Kuroo was a guy made of flesh and blood, and Kenma was an attractive young man, although Kenma didn’t seem to notice his own allure. It didn’t help that Kuroo was one-hundred-percent gay.

“Here.” Kuroo handed Kenma the t-shirt, which he quickly pulled on. It did seem a little large, draping slightly on Kenma’s slimmer frame. Kuroo had heard of the ‘boyfriend t-shirt’ from his old partner, and he’d finally seen the real thing. He had to get rid of these thoughts. Kenma was only going to be here until Kuroo found a way to send him back. “Come on, food’s on the table.”

Kuroo got Kenma to sit, and poured a glass of cold milk for him, insisting that Kenma should drink more calcium. 

While Kenma ate, Kuroo made a second omelette, all the while thinking how this caring and feeding was kind of like keeping a pet. He put two and two together. The fish-shaped plate, the milk, how he didn’t mind Kenma’s skittishness. Kuroo was unconsciously treating Kenma like a pet cat. Which was not a good thing, at all. They say that once the stray had a name, you would end up keeping it and there was no escape. Kuroo could see where this was going. But he hadn’t even given Kenma his name. It should be fine, and Kenma was a human, not a stray cat.

Kuroo sat down, still thinking about how he couldn’t keep a human as a pet. They ate in silence, with Kenma making soft happy sounds while practically licking his plate clean. 

When they finished breakfast-lunch, Kuroo collected the dishes and left them in the sink. Kenma moved to offer to wash up, but Kuroo stopped him, “I’ll wash up later, why don’t you go sleep.”

Kuroo watched Kenma go off to his room, his own eyelids heavy with sleep.  
Before Kuroo went to sleep in his own bed, he switched out the half-empty magazine clip in his .45 caliber M1911. He flicked the safety on and slipped it underneath his pillow. Just in case something happened and he needed double the amount of ammo to protect them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm just going with whatever comes to me so comments and advice are welcome! (Also I'm grateful you read this terrible atrocity, thank you)


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Bokuto side  
> (I realise I have way too many plot holes but I'm unsure how to fix that right now)

Kuroo was going to hate him for not telling the truth. Bokuto shifted his banged up leg and winced, pain shooting up and down it despite all the light painkillers and drugs in his system. It might as well been broken; a nasty sprain and a smattering of bruises hurt a lot.

The dull ache was almost worth the good look he'd gotten of a hired guy, eyes sharp as obsidian and packing a custom sniper rifle. The guy had been sighting Bokuto and Bokuto had waved at the guy, through the scope and glass. Stupid move, right. Normally, it probably would've gotten him killed just that little bit faster, but the mystery sniper had taken the shot, bullet hitting the balcony railing Bokuto had been leaning over, deliberately missing him. It'd startled Bokuto so bad he'd fallen head first into some prickly bushes. And when he came to, there was an ambulance and the sniper guy had already cleared the scene.

Bokuto, confined to bed rest, had made a few calls and checked a few services trying to find the guy. Either he was a very bad sniper or a very good one because no one had heard of him.

And apparently Bokuto's new position of power as head after his dad's retirement had pointed red crosshairs all over on him. There was a fat reward for anyone who could maim or kill him. It amused the other heads to test the mettle of new ones by sending a highly trained professional from their own payrolls, each. If he survived, they'd see him as an equal, if he didn't, well, his father's wrath and disappointment would be the least of his worries.

Bokuto looked up at the sound of the door opening, dispersing his morbid thoughts. A nurse carrying a vase of hydrangea flowers smiled at him and said, "A man just came by and dropped these off for you."

"Did he say what his name was?" Bokuto said, pretty sure that the bouquet was some sort of message. Especially because, bar hospital staff and family members, no one was getting past the ward doors let alone into his room.

"No, he didn't." The nurse, still holding the vase asked, "Where do you want these?"

"Table's fine." The nurse placed the base on the bedside table and checked his leg. She moved to leave but remembered something, "There was a note in the hydrangeas. A bunch of numbers was written on it."

That piqued Bokuto's curiosity. "Can I see? Do you still have it?"

"Yes, I do." She retrieved a folded piece of paper, handed it to him, and excused herself. 

The note was for Bokuto all right, it was addressed to him, with what looked like a phone number scrawled across it. Bokuto wanted to know who had given him the flowers and the note. He punched in the numbers into his phone. It rang twice before someone picked up. 

"Hello?" No response from whoever he'd called.

Tap. Bokuto looked around, trying to find where the noise was coming from. Tap. There it was again. Tap. Out of the corner of his eye, Bokuto thought he saw something orange hit the window. 

Phone in hand, he got out of the bed and shuffled over to half-sit half-crouch under the window. Again, tap. An orange-coloured pellet glanced off the glass. It didn't break the window so Bokuto propped the phone against the wall and dragged himself against the sill so he was leaning his weight on the window and not his injured leg. The pellets stopped when Bokuto saw the same dark-haired sniper he'd seen from the day before. The sniper was looking up at Bokuto from the hospital's lawn, speaking into a phone.

"Your father sent me to help you with the hunt. Specifically protecting you against harm."

Bokuto picked up his phone, eyes locked onto the sniper, and said loudly, "I know you, you tried to shoot me!"

"No I didn't. If I wanted to put a bullet in you, you wouldn't be standing right now."

"And what do you mean dad sent you?"

The sniper, though he wasn't carrying anything except a plastic gun, sighed, "He said to tell you 'the young owl flies at midnight'. Please come down via the fire escape stairwell. We need to leave, now."

"Wait wait, where's Kuroo?"

"I don't know who this Kuroo is but I've been assigned to you from this moment onwards. Please cooperate and this whole hunt will be over soon."

Bokuto was confused that Kuroo, who had been his protective detail since they were both in high school together, wasn't the one talking to him right now. He complied though, and said, "Okay, I'm coming down," shuffling out of his room in a green hospital gown. If his father had given the new guy the phrase, then who was he to argue.

The sniper looked at him, expressionless, after Bokuto had somehow half-nose-dived and limped down the stairs, and said, "Hello, Bokuto. I'm Akaashi. Now if you would please follow me."

Bokuto, tired from navigating the many perilous stairs with an injured leg, sat down with a huff and refused to move. "No. First you're going to have to tell me what's going on and where the hell is Kuroo."

Akaashi stared at Bokuto, as if considering how he would deal with Bokuto's childish stubbornness. "Bokuto, I already explained." 

Bokuto stared back at Akaashi, determined to make things difficult for Akaashi. 

Akaashi abruptly broke off eye contact, rolled up his shirtsleeves, and supporting Bokuto under the upper back and legs, picked him up off the ground. 

Bokuto flailed a bit in surprise and panicked at being held. "What are you doing?!"

"Going to the car." Akaashi responded, calm and unflinching as he headed towards the parking lot.

"PUT ME DOWN!"

"It'll be faster this way. I know your leg still hurts."

"I DON'T CARE! PUT ME DOWN RIGHT NOW!" Bokuto started pushing against Akaashi's chest, hands making contact with solid muscle under Akaashi's white shirt.

"Stop struggling or I'll drop you."

"Fine." Bokuto said, crossing his arms in defiance and went still in Akaashi's arms.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> According to the Haikyuu Wiki, Akaashi is 182.3cm and 70.7kg, and Bokuto is 185.3cm and 78.3kg, but remember guys, Akaashi in this AU is stronger and also a professional with training. And Bokuto is pretty normal in terms of strength and doesn't do much intense physical exercise.


	4. Chapter 4

"Where are we going? Are we there yet?" Bokuto whined from his slumped position in the backseat.

A jacket was thrown onto Bokuto. "Wear it." The cool morning was starting to heat up and Akaashi had turned on the air conditioning, but with Bokuto wearing nothing but a thin hospital gown, Akaashi didn't want Bokuto catching a cold on top of the sore leg.

Bokuto put it on obediently, since he was feeling a bit chilly. "Thanks, Akaashi." The jacket smelled faintly of coffee and cigarettes.

"We're going to the outskirts of town right now. Until I can reach my contact, we'll drive around."

"Okay."

They both went quiet, but the silence didn't last long. Bokuto's phone started ringing, or more accurately, making "Ohohoho" sounds. It was Kuroo, Bokuto knew from the ringtone, and he naturally moved to answer it.

"Why do you have your phone?! Don't answer that!" Akaashi said, taking his eyes off the road for a second to reprimand Bokuto, voice firm.

"But it's Kuroo, I have to pick up." Bokuto said, confused.

"No. Absolutely not. Leave it."

Bokuto stared at his phone until it went to voicemail, the picture of Kuroo with a goofy smile fading to black to tell Bokuto he had one missed call.

"Akaashi?"

"Yes, Bokuto?"

"I'm going to call Kuroo. He wouldn't call unless it was really, really important."

Akaashi thought about it for a moment, "Will this make you more cooperative?"

"Yep! I promise I'll be nicer and cooperate with you!" Bokuto grinned, easily pleased.

Bokuto hit speed dial, calling Kuroo's number. Kuroo answered, distracted, and somehow Bokuto managed to fool his best friend into thinking that he was still confined in bed, at the hospital, and not in a car with a stranger. A stranger who could probably take on Kuroo without breaking a sweat. 

"Turn off your phone and give it to me. I'm confiscating it." Akaashi said after Bokuto hung up.

"Why?" 

"I'm the one protecting you. I need you to trust me." Akaashi said as he took a turn, and the car behind them did the same.

Bokuto hummed and sighed, would giving up his phone to Akaashi be that bad? But then again, what if Akaashi was playing him. If only Kuroo was here; he definitely trusted Kuroo, no questions asked.

Akaashi checked the rear view mirror, waiting for Bokuto's response, and the car behind them was still following them, no matter how many turns Akaashi took. It was tailing them.

Bokuto hesitated, "I don't know.. And what have you been doing? Why are we taking so many turns?"

"Someone's following us. I tried to shake them, but they're really persistent." Bokuto saw that there was indeed a car straight out of a action flick a few metres behind them, a black SUV with tinted windows. For the first time since he'd met Akaashi, he felt a little uneasy, Akaashi wasn't messing with him, and the game had already started.

"What should we do? Will they shoot at us?" Bokuto whispered, trying to not sound as anxious as he felt while he kept turning around to look at the SUV, straining to see who was inside.

Akaashi kept the car at a cruise, so as to not alert their company. "They might. Bokuto, would you pass me the bag next to you please."

Bokuto hefted the duffel bag, dumping it next to Akaashi, "What the hell do you have in there? It weighs a ton."

Akaashi unzipped the duffel, revealing a large case, handguns, knives and loaded magazines. He rummaged around for a bit, fishing out a 9mm, and held it out grip first to Bokuto. "Here."

"Oh no, no way in hell am I going to touch that." Bokuto leaned away from the proffered gun like it was being pointed at him. He'd never seen a real gun up close. Kuroo hadn't ever carried any sort of deadly weapon, at least not that he'd noticed. Bokuto liked to call Kuroo a hands on type of bodyguard, anyone who tried to assault Bokuto would have to fight Kuroo first. Kuroo himself was a deadly weapon.

Akaashi chucked the gun, and two full magazines, at him. Bokuto flinched, but caught the gun by reflex. The magazines bounced onto the back seat, harmless.

"The safety's on so it won't hurt you. And it's just a precaution, in case we get separated I don't want you running around unarmed."

"Where am I supposed to even keep this?" Bokuto held the gun gingerly, looking pointedly at his state of dress, or rather his state of undress, "I'm not even wearing any pants."

Ignoring Bokuto, Akaashi grabbed himself a gun and thumbed off the safety. "Get down. Stay down. Stay still."

Akaashi stepped on the gas, stuck his arm out the window, made a cursory glance backwards, and fired off a couple shots at the SUV. Both front tyres went out, as they left the slowing SUV behind. 

Stunned by their audacious getaway, Bokuto had stared at the back of the driver's seat as they took back routes and retraced some roads. 

They parked in front of a normal-looking apartment complex, Akaashi motioning for Bokuto to follow him. "Change of plans, we need to ditch the car," Akaashi said, "And you need clothes." He gave Bokuto a clinical once-over.

They pass a couple of young mothers with children clutching their aprons. Akaashi exchanged greetings with them, one of the children, a girl toddler, even waved at him. Bokuto watched, fascinated at the new side of Akaashi he was seeing for the first time. He couldn't figure out if Akaashi was emotionally incapable or professional to a fault.

They take the stairs up to Akaashi's apartment, and Bokuto waited at the entrance with the duffel bag as Akaashi gathered up his extra equipment and clothing into another duffel. With Akaashi's attention away from him, Bokuto took the opportunity to send a distress message to Kuroo. 

Bokuto: SOS HOOT  
Sent 11:41AM

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I regret to inform that I am unable to fix these gaping plot holes (sorrysorrysorry).


End file.
